It was so cold
by silvermooninclearsky
Summary: The guys go camping to get away from various forms of torture, but who knew the skeletal remains of an old boy scout camp could hold so much pain, love, and adventure? Please read, first fic, but really good. StanXKyle, ButtersXKenny, CraigXTweek tweekP
1. Chapter 1

**Dont blame me. i just write. o?o**

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It was so cold. I should have brought more blankets.

But that wouldn't have been… manly? I don't know. I'm not much of a man now, shivering my ass off.

My bag is kind of flimsy. Not much stuffing in it.

But it used to be my dad's and he wanted me to take it on this stupid little camping trip that we'd gone on.

Who came up with this shit anyway? God, I hang out with some real idiots.

I start twitching again, partly because of the cold, and partly because I'm so fucking nervous.

I hope I don't wake Craig up.

Damn it, stop twitching! Gah!

I'm like a fucking vibrator now. Back away ladies. Heh, heh.

The tent is pitching wildly with the wind, I was afraid that it would just completely blow off. But me and Craig were weighing it down. Or at least Craig was. Before he'd fallen asleep, he'd joked that I shouldn't step outside or I'd get carried away.

I didn't want to get carried away. Where would I get blown to?

If I landed somewhere hard, my bones would break. I'm not exactly that strong. In fact, I am probably the skinniest guy I know. Right up there with Kenny and Butters, who are sharing a tent right next to mine and Craig's, and Kyle on Exam week, who's bunking with Stan.

I throw up on a regular basis. Not because I'm anorexic, it's just I get so fucked up sometimes, I can't keep my shit together long enough to digest. But I take vitamins, so fuck it, bring on the heaves.

God, it's so cold. And now I need to pee. Jesus.

Where was the restroom again?

Maybe I'll go when the wind lets up. Fuck. It's so damn cold.

Cold, cold, cold. Shivering like a maniac.

Suddenly Craig is up, jerking me around to face him.

"Damn, Tweek, I can't sleep with you shaking like a fucking rat over there. What the fuck, man, why'd you bring that raggedy-ass piece of shit anyway?"

"D-don't blame me dude, my dad was all sentimental and shit, s-something about passing on family crap o-or w-w-whatever."

Damn, I thought he was asleep.

He's quiet for a moment, just looking at me in the dark. His head comes so close to the tossing tarp, it's practically slapping him in the face. How can he be so tall just sitting up? Jesus.

I'm twitching again under his scrutiny.

Fuck. He makes me so nervous. Why can't he just go back to sleep?

I shouldn't have taken this tent with him. I should have tried to squeeze in with one of the other guys, but everybody just naturally divided, Stan with Kyle, Kenny with Butters, me with Craig, and Cartman in his own personal fucking fortress.

It would have looked weird if I'd tried to go with the other guys. Then it would have been plainly, painfully obvious.

I liked Craig. And not just like a friend, as I'd spent half the past three months convincing myself that it was. Well, that is, three months about two days ago.

Weird how I remember the exact moment when I figured out that thinking about your best friend naked wasn't friggin' normal. Normal in the sense that would have been clear had I actually been normal.

But we all know I'm a freakin' nut case who should be handcuffed and kept in my room for my own protection. But I'm no good with confinement.

I go crazy in closed spaces. Which is why I have half of the little window on my side sort of halfway unzipped. So I know that there's a sky above me and the ground below. Little assurances that help me keep my shit together.

But I find that with Craig staring down at me like that, It doesn't really matter if the window's slightly open or not.

My fingers are twitching and I try and hide them in my hair. Not hard. It's a shaggy mess of yellow strands, like fucking bile-looking crap that I wish I'd never been born with.

Fuck! What is he thinking?

Finally, a reaction. A sigh. Not too bad.

Then he reaches over again and yanks at the zipper that's holding me in, which is halfway undone too, because I thought if felt like a body bag when I put it on. Bugged me out, like, bad.

Still I go, "Gah! What are you doing?!"

"What's it look like I'm doing?"

"Why the fuck would I be asking, if I knew?"

"Shut the hell up, Tweek." I comply. Not hard either. My jaws are chattering.

He gets out of his own (body) bag and unzips it too. Then he fiddles with the zipper on mine trying to get it too attach to his.

Ah, now I get it.

And it fucks me up. I'm all jittery. Being in such close proximity to the object of my affections? Shit. What am I going to do?

I stare at his back as he works, admiring the liquid fluidness in which his muscles ripple beneath his shirt. I want to run my hands over that expanse and feel his body move beneath them.

Then I think, Gah! What if I get hard?

Hell, not gonna happen, dude, some other part of my brain thinks. I still need to pee. Can't be easy to get hard with a full bladder aching to be relieved. Damn, I really need to go. I blow into my hands.

"Fuck."

"What?" goes Craig. "If you don't want to, I can just let you freeze your skinny ass off – "

"N-no, not that," I say, unnerved that he made a reference to my ass, however slight and insignificant.

"I gotta go take a piss," I bite my lip and scramble to the door flap. Before I unzip it, I turn and say jokingly, "If I don't come back, know this… I… lived a good life."

I meant to say, 'I love you', but I guess even as a joke, it freaked me out. It would be too much like actually _saying_ it. And what if he got the hidden meaning? Even though nobody in their right minds would think to take it that way when I was so obviously joking… right?

He snorts. "Whatever dude, just don't go all gone with the wind on me. I don't want to have to get you out of a tree in the morning."

I unzip the thing and step out. "What, you wouldn't go looking for me if I didn't come back?"

Another snort. Craig, the man of few words but various forms of grunts and clicks.

I step out, just a little and zip the door back up. I'm so close to the tent, I'm practically a fucking patch.

I should have brought a fucking jacket or something. But I'm to chicken shit to go back in there. I uncurl myself and step away.

Immediately, I'm tumbling over myself to keep upright. The wind is so strong, I'm freaking being carried, like piglet in that Winnie the Pooh movie, skidding across the ground. I get caught in the trees around our little clearing, snagging a branch.

Alright that's as far as I'm going, I think. Like hell I was going to go look for that crappy looking restroom facility that the camp guy pointed out. It was made out of sticks-n'-stones, man. And I have a dick don't I...? Heh. Don't I...? Wait, don't answer that.

I look back. I'm assaulted by the wind, pressed roughly against the tree, like a rape victim.

The four tents stand, shivering. I can't tell which is mine; they all look alike, except for Cartman's.

Crap.

I fiddle with my pants, one skinny arm clinging to the tree. A quick piss, then I stuff myself back in.

Then I start my fight back to my tent. I'm like, full tilt, almost parallel to the ground, clinging to the fucking grass.

I reach the first tent. I don't know if it's mine. The wind is roaring.

I decide to chance it. I undo the zipper and stick half my body inside.

… No… definitely not my tent…

Stan and Kyle are wrapped around each other, a tangled mess. But they actually look so sweet together. I don't know if they planned it this way, but they're all over each other, foreheads meeting, breathing the same air.

For a while I just look at them. I'm sort of jealous. Why did they just naturally gravitate toward each other, naturally love each other, and naturally seek each other's comfort in the cold when I'm over here… struggling.

I zip the tent back up. One down.

Army crawling now.

This time I undo the thing only enough to stick my head in, and, fuck do I get a shock.

Not only are Butters and Kenny meshed together, they're meshing together.

Eyes. Are. Glued.

Their bodies move in sync, and I can barely hear the SFX over the roaring wind.

I can't discern one from the other, not in this lighting anyway. Now if I had a flashlight…

Gah! What am I doing?

I pop my head back out and do a whole-body twitch.

I don't bother doing up the opening. It's not like they're lacking for warmth. And it'll be murder trying to explain why I was peeping around my twitching, shaking and stuttering if they caught me…. If they caught me… no, don't even think about it.

That left just one.

I stumbled over to it, reaching for the zipper.

Just then, the wind shifted, and I went skidding, my knees scrapping against the dirt.

Damn, I need to gain a big of weight. My shirt caught in the wind and it nearly blew off of me. I tried to catch it just before it came off my arm.

Nope. Gone forever. And it was my favorite shirt too, ever since fifth grade. Stan said it was crazy how I still fit into those shirts, but whatever, you don't throw out something that still wears okay.

I scrambled to the door and unzipped it hastily before the wind could plan another attack. I threw myself inside and landed on someone.

"Jeez, Tweek!"

"Gah! Sorry Craig!"

I push myself up, trying to figure out where I am. Then I realize, with sudden clarity, that I'm straddling my crush-boy, and his movements cease for a moment, and it seems he's realized this too.

I think I'm sitting on his stomach, and I can feel the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, unencumbered by my weight.

For a moment, just a moment, I think about reaching down into the darkness and stoking his face. It's just a fleeting moment that I think about sifting my fingers in his hair, and sliding my hands over his chest.

Then my mind goes all spazzy, and I scuttle off of him, backwards, crab-style.

No time to think about the wonderful little sensations that gives me (an unwelcome flash of Butters and Kenny meshing), I feel the wind blow harshly against my unprotected flesh, and my hairs rise and my nipples turn into ice-picks.

Seriously, if you threw me into a wall, I would just fuckin' stick.

I turn fully to the door, and use all my strength to pull the zipper over the gap as slow as I can without making it seem like I'm actually trying to make it go slower.

I use the scant time I have to calmly tell myself not to make a big deal out of this. Sure, me and Craig will be sleeping in the same bag, but it wasn't like we'd be cuddling like Stan and Kyle, or fucking like Kenny and Butters.

I wasn't ready for that last one but the first sounded painfully good. A sharp aching hit my chest and I knew it for what it was: need.

I wanted Craig to hold me like Stan was holding Kyle.

But Craig wasn't like Stan. Stan was the sweetest kind of guy. He would smile a self-conscious kind of smile then break out in heartfelt laughter a moment later. He'll scoop money out of his wallet to pay for an ice-cream cone for everyone. He'll come to a camping trip when his father is up in D.C. trying to stop some catastrophic anomaly or other. He'll put up with Kyle's bitchy moods when Cartman's been acting like an ass. He'll secretly brush Kyle's curly red tendrils of hair out of his eyes as he drives stakes into the ground. He'll cuddle with Kyle at night because Kyle's so tired of staying up so late and working so hard to please his demanding mother. Dark circles are hard to hide with Kyle's milky skin. We all know the real reason for his coming on this trip.

Still, Craig had his good sides, which were the sides I liked, or I wouldn't be so damn nervous about being so close to him in that damn bag.

He'll stop me when I'm unconsciously mutilating myself. He'll take me along with him when he's going to play with his little brother at the park, even though I'm no good at Foot ball and even Cid (his kid brother) knows it. He'll fling filthy words at the people who make fun of me, and Butters too when Kenny's not around. He'll put up with my griping when I say that I don't need him to help me, I was doing just fine, when we both know I would've been a stain on the earth if it weren't for him.

He doesn't carry me over puddles, like Kenny would for Butters. I won't feed him French Fries like Butters will for Kenny. He won't secretly hold my hand under tables like Stan will for Kyle. I won't lean in too close to just be near him (even though I want to so bad) like Kyle will for Stan.

"Is the zipper stuck or something?"

I jump and try to stifle a surprised, "Gah!"

"N-n-no," I squeak. "It's just…"

I don't finish the sentence. I just close it up, and crawl on all fours to the edge of the sleeping bag.

"Hurry up dude, it's fucking cold."

"Hmm." I go, unsure that if I open my mouth, the crackers I had this afternoon won't come up to meet Craig's pretty face. I shift my weight until I'm in the bag, and for a while my body is grateful for the warmth, then I realize it's Craig's warmth and I tense up.

"Yes… and now the bag closes," Craig says slowly, a little irritated. Of course. He doesn't think of this as anything special. He's just helping out a friend. I'm the weird one. I have to get over this. I have to at least pretend that it doesn't bother me.

So I work on closing the bad, but not too much. I need an escape route. I always need and escape route.

"Good, now go to sleep Tweek, we've got a lot of stuff planned for tomorrow."

And with that, we're sleeping together. Me, scrunched up like a beaten puppie, and Craig, like a normal guy, stretched out, sleepy as hell.

And I'm so disappointed. Disappointed and sad, and almost mad, and terribly insecure.

If this is any indication of how the rest of the trip will be, I might as well hitchhike the 50, 000 miles back to South Park. But I know I won't. I'll be here for every last painful memory. Why? Because Craig is here. And no matter how much I know I can't have him, and he won't ever think of me that way, because he's the straightest guy I know, I just can't bring myself to stop caring enough to leave.

Ah, Shakespeare! If you could only bear witness to this form of modern unrequited love, how would you portray your next play?

Jesus, I'm fucked… or maybe the point is that I wasn't?

My twitchy little lizard brain couldn't process. Sleep finally took over. And as I drifted off, I felt warmer, finally.

What my brain didn't perceive was that the source of the sudden warmth that totally overpowered the hammering cold was an arm draped heavily across my body.

2715

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**???omg. my first fanfic. i think it's alright, but i can't figure out if other people will like it. Please review, but don't shatter my self esteem. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I figured if I'm going to put all these characters in this fic, and not have it just be completely boy-on-boy action in between the wee hours of the night, and be all seriously fo' rizz-eal, then I'd have to get the other guys involved somehow, though I don't know exactly how this all will develop. I'm still completely for Tweek being the main pivot point in the plot, but I don't know. I feel like I should shake it up a little. I know this is barely the second chapter, but my mind is, like, playing with all this other stuff that could either make this thing be all 'oh, wow' or drive it straight into hell… so, yeah. **

**Also, I'm working on the lemon-ish things. I know I said I didn't want it all to be about sex, but, c'mon… what are we all here for? That thing in the first chap left a lot to be desired, I know, but I have trouble. I've only ever written up one steamy scene in my life, and after a while it just started sounding like my aunt's old romance novels. And I want it to sound like it would be something you could, I dunno, think could actually happen. Not just something completely cheesy – or at least that's what I'm aiming for.**

**You let me know if it comes out that way or not… **

_Kyle's POV…_

I've been so tired.

From the moment we stepped off that truck, after driving 30,000 odd miles from South Park, a hell hole, to this camping grounds, another hell hole, though decidedly the lesser of two evils.

I couldn't find the will to say much to Cartman when he started dissing me, my mom, my hair, my religion, and my manliness. My brain was so befuddled; I felt the slimy film coating my tongue, making it stick to the roof of my mouth.

The only solace I could find was when Stan brushed my hair out of my eyes when no one was looking, and at night, when the chilly weather dropped a couple hundred degrees and it was colder than a dead hooker, he put his arms around me and I swear I didn't mean to cry, but a few droplets squeezed themselves out anyway. I was so drained.

Mom was being exceptionally bitchy last week. I was just getting into my daily sleep three hours, study all night, throw up all my food from stress, and pass out in the bathroom routine. Then Cartman called and said that I needed to get my stupid gay Jew ass packed, and we were going camping.

It wasn't the camping that appealed to me, it was the fact that it was so far away, and Stan was thinking about going too. Of course, Cartman also offered to pay for it all, and that got me suspicious, but he was an obnoxious ass all the way here. Still, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There had to be a catch. There always was. But I didn't care; not now.

It was morning soon; far too soon.

I was still in Stan's arms. My head was tucked under his chin, and I could feel his nose poking into my hair.

For a moment, I lay there, awake, breathing in his scent. I like the way he smells. He smells like… Stan.

I take a deep breath. I want to wiggle around, but I don't want to ruin this moment. I feel my body start to get all achy though, because even if I don't want to, it knows that I should be getting up, and I can't help shifting just a little bit.

"Hey…. You awake?"

I snuggle deeper into Stan's arms. "No."

He laughs just a little. He wiggles until he's looking me in the eyes. "Yes you are."

I grin. He leans forwards. I squirm.

"Ah, c'mon Stan, I just woke up, my mouth feels all fuzzy." He kisses me anyway, and despite my protests, I don't fight once his lips meet mine.

"Not fuzzy… nice."

I blush, unwillingly. "You're such a weirdo."

He laughs again, the idiot. For a couple of moments, we stay right where we are, comfortably cuddling. It's pure bliss, I tell you. If I could capture this moment forever in my heart, I probably wouldn't ever need to wear another jacket.

But that wouldn't be fun anyway. Not when it's so much better to use the real Stan as a makeshift sweater.

Then that big fat dumbass had to go and ruin the moment.

"Hey you fags, get your asses up!"

"Ah, Jesus." Groans Stan, and I understand completely.

If there was ever a moment that I wanted to kill someone with my bare hands with more passion, then I'd be labeled a serial killer by now.

And maybe that'd be kind of cool with me. Stan said he liked my bad boy streak, which was odd, seeing as I hardly had one to speak of, being whipped by mommy, as I was.

But I guess…

We uncurl, with much difficulty. By then, Cartman's already unzipping our tent and trying to squeeze his huge ass in through the opening.

Well, I digress.

He isn't really that big. Not since he learned that playing sports was a good way to channel his sadistic psychopathic killer energy. Now he's just freakin' bulky, but with a fine layer of fat covering it all, like some sort of whale. And besides, he's grown at least two feet over that many years due to a monster growth spurt around the summer of 9th grade.

Still doesn't make him any less of an asshole though.

"Why the hell are we waking up so damn early, asshole?" I ask, royally pissed.

"We have stuff to do."

"What??"

Cartman rolls his eyes. "Did you think we were all just going to be sleeping up here, having orgies and sipping cocoa by a fire?"

He shoves me and I stumble back. Stan narrows his eyes at this but doesn't say anything.

"So what are we doing?"

"Various things. Too much to say right now. All I know is that we have to meet the guy that owns the grounds now. He's going to give us some stuff to do."

Stan raises his eyebrows. "You mean we're here to work?"

Of course, I think.

Cartman grins. "You ladies afraid to get your hands dirty? Don't worry; you can wash each other off in the showers afterward."

I snort, but it doesn't sound like a bad idea… the working, not the shower thing… though I'm not saying it wouldn't be welcome…

Anyway, I didn't think I'd be able to just do _nothing_ the entire time. I'm not that kind of person. I have to constantly be working up to something. Side effects, I guess, from living so long with an unyielding mother.

Cartman walks out, leaving us to change. I pull off my shirt and amble over to my pack. I know exactly where my shirts are. I know where my tooth brush is. I know where the mini tube of toothpaste is.

Stan on the other hand, is rummaging around in his dad's old army duffel bag. I don't know if Stan's dad ever did go to the army. Mr. Marsh hardly strikes me as the type. I watch him stumble around for a while.

If Stan is anything, it's unorganized, and disoriented, at least now. He's got his shirt half off, trying to wrestle it off as he rummages around at the same time.

"I hate to break it to you," I say severely. "But multi tasked, you are not."

He looked up and went, "Huh?"

I just smiled. "Nothing."

He grinned. God, I loved his smile. He had the most perfect smile, all white teeth and kissable lips.

"Stop fucking in there, you guys! We gotta go!"

I glared at the direction of Cartman's voice.

Eventually, Stan did find his shirt, and eventually we did make our way out of the tent, and eventually, I knew that Cartman would die by my hand, but that hardly mattered. At least, not at this moment.

I stepped out, of the tent that is, and there was crap and debris lying all over the place, like some sort of war scene. Crap was thrown all over the place. The leaves and small branches of abused trees were scattered all around.

"Jesus, dude."

I looked over at Kenny who was emerging, groggy and disoriented from his tent. He was pulling a shirt over his blond head. Butters stumbled out after him, decked out in full outdoor attire, complete with feather adorned fishing cap and a button down plaid shirt.

He should have looked like a major dork, and anyone who didn't know him would think so, but by now, we were all used to Butters' sweet naïve state of mind, and didn't begrudge him his little quirks.

"Told you we should have tied our stuff down," he breathed. "Can you imagine if we just let it go flapping around all willy-nilly like that?"

Not one word that came out of that boy's mouth didn't sound completely redneck.

Kenny smiled blearily. "All willy-nilly, huh?"

Butters bobbed his head, not in the least catching the meaning of the inquiry. But it's not like Kenny was making fun.

He flicked a little piece of golden hair that was poking out from underneath Butters' cap in a most oh-you're-so-damn-cute fashion.

Stan walked over to the picnic benches that came with out little camping ground and leaned under the table to where our stuff was expertly tied to the iron legs. Craig was already there, sitting with his hands meshed together at the back of his neck, his forehead practically in his lap.

I wonder what's up with him. He's probably sleepy or something.

Kenny is ambling over to where Cartman is, half in – half out of his tent, fiddling with something we can't see. Just as Kenny gets close enough to him, so that, I don't know, he could ask him something, Cartman seems to hear him coming and completely trips himself up throwing junk into his tent and quickly closes his door.

He jumps up and grins at a baffled looking Kenny.

"Alright, if we're all up, let's get to the mess hall. That's where the guy wanted us to meet him. We've got stuff to do, c'mon."

He's trying to cover up by seeming excited, but I can totally see through that fake-ass son of a bitch.

"Actually," goes Craig, lifting his head. "Tweek hasn't gotten up yet. I left him in there; he's still out like a fucking log."

I find this strange. Someone so twitchy and hyperactive shouldn't really be the kind of person to oversleep. I'd have pegged him for insomniac.

"Well wake his twitchy ass up," Cartman says, and stands. "We're going ahead. Catch up."

And he walks off. We follow: me and Stan walking in step, our hands brushing against each other as we walked, Butters, and Kenny with an arm slung around Butter's thin shoulders.

…………………………….

_Craig's POV_

I watch them walk away with a mixture of relief and terror.

Alright, what the _fuck_ am I going to do now?

I look back at the tent. It looks innocent, just sitting there, all… innocent. But I know better. That tent is evil. _Evil_.

Now, I pride myself in being, like, the last straight guy in a purely homo-_esque_ sort of group. I mean, c'mon, is every flippin' guy in South Park just turning tail? I can't really be the last straight man. How would the world survive?

Especially after last night…

I put my head on my knees and thread my fingers through my hair, pulling just enough to let me know that I'm still awake. I didn't stay in that tent for long. I suppose that's my fault; all my fault. It had nothing to do with Tweek.

All me.

It was my arm that had crept around Tweek's skinny, rail-thin body. It was my heart that pounded, sending blood to that cursed organ.

Cursed organ. Heh. Those lifetime specials are getting to me. Maybe they're what's up with my suddenly gay-straying thoughts.

But anyway.

I didn't want to remember what happened. My face burned with the mere mention of it all. But I couldn't stop. The thoughts came whether I wanted them to or not.

_Tweek was shivering. I knew because I could fucking feel it. Even after I'd put our bags together. _

_Someone so fucking skinny shouldn't be out here to begin with, I thought. _

_Yet despite that, I felt sort of sorry for him. I always seemed to feel sorry for him. He was just the kind of guy who inspired sympathy. Chronic. Slightly deranged. _

_I caught him once, just staring at the wall like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. His eyes would dart all over that wall, like there was something on it. Then some guy came up behind him and smashed his face into it. _

_He turned around and fell to his knees, his face in his hands. His hair was floating like jagged spikes around his face, and his eyes were dark, like a bottomless pit. _

_But just then, they were sparkly. I remember thinking they were sparkly, like glitter, but that was a long time ago and I hardly had anything to compare it too. _

_He looked up at me then, and I felt guilty for just standing there. My young mind turned over, looking for something to do for him. (Even then I felt sorry for him)_

_So, I went after the jerk off who hurt him, and I beat his ass, because I was just old enough that I figured that was the cure for everything. The other guy wasn't even that strong. Went down like that. _

_When I came back, he was still on the floor, on his knees, leaning way forward. _

_His mouth and nose were a bloody mess. And he just let it run out onto the floor, just staring at it. He reached down and drew a finger through the growing puddle of red liquid, and he marveled at the blood soaked tip of his finger, and watched, transfixed as a bead rolled down all the way to his elbow. Then he started whimpering and twitching, giving out shrieks of horror at odd intervals. _

_I left, thoroughly freaked. But anytime he got into trouble, I was there. I just felt so bad. Maybe it's because people just… talked. _

_They said weird things about him. Things I couldn't understand; things I can't remember now. I thought that was unfair, so I looked after him. _

_Eventually, we became friends. Rocky at first. It wasn't exactly solid. He'd always be sort of out of it. Besides his twitchiness. He'd be sort of paranoid. _

_But that was just him, and as I looked at him, his skinny frame just shivering, a pitiful sight really. I felt something. _

_It started in my stomach, and spread like a ripple throughout my body. Suddenly, I was the shivery one too. _

_Damn, it really is cold, I told myself. _

_I don't know what compelled me to do it. I was dead tired and must have been queasy or something. My stomach had this achy quality. _

_Did I just get a fucking stomach ache feeling sorry for Tweek??_

_That must have been it. I felt so sorry for him, I had to comfort him in some way. _

_I put my arm around him. He stopped shivering almost instantly. With that, I drifted off to sleep. And I dreamed something I really rather wouldn't have dreamed of. _

_I dreamed of Tweek. Possibly the fist wet dream in longer than I can remember. I didn't think I'd have another one. I thought they just sort of… stopped after a while. And here I was having one about Tweek._

I raised my head and slapped my face.

Stop! Stop! Stop thinking about it you asshole!

_Tweek moaned and bucked._

Oh, you son of a bitch. You motherfucker. Stop fucking thinking.

_I was breathing heavily, grinding my hips into his. God, it felt so – _

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!! Stop goddamnit!

"_Mmmm." – I felt the vibrations of his moan through his body. I –_

"**AAAAAAAHHHHH!!"**

My head snapped up and I nearly fucking fell out of the goddamn bench. WTF??

"Get it off! Get it off!" The screams were coming from our tent.

"Tweek!"

I vaulted myself off the bench and sprinted to the tent.

You get to see a side of someone, you've never seen. Something so secret…


End file.
